


Not Your Usual Sunday

by kathierif_fic



Series: Pepper-the-Cat [8]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, cat!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathierif_fic/pseuds/kathierif_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fighting Cthulu is definitely not how Clint has envisioned his Sunday going. And it had started out so well, with Phil and him together in bed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Usual Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Next one for the Pepper-the-cat series :)

It's Sunday morning, and Phil wakes up because tiny but sharp claws dig into the soft and vulnerable skin under his arm, followed by the rough swipe of a tongue against the paperthin skin of the inside of his elbow.

He smiles before he's really awake and turns until his body is curled around that of his cat, who, as soon as she realizes that he's not asleep anymore, headbutts him enthusiastically and rubs herself against his cheek and his shoulder and purrs up a storm.

That is, until the door opens, and the smell of coffee and breakfast wafts into the bedroom, followed by the familiar rattle of kibble in a bowl. 

Pepper-the-cat is on her feet and off the bed at a speed that Phil thinks for a moment she teleported herself, but then he notices the slight burn of scratch marks on his skin and buries his head in his pillow with a groan.

He loves Pepper, loves her like his own child, but there is no doubt that she has her priorities straight.

And, as much as Phil hates to admit it, on her list of important things, he will always get beaten by a bowl full of dry cat food.

It's Sunday morning, and there is no reason for him to get up, not if someone else filled Pepper's bowl and not as long as there isn't an emergency. He might be off the Avengers-project, but Nick Fury has enough other things he needs someone trustworthy to take care of.

Nick Fury, Phil thinks amusedly while dragging the sheets up to his shoulder and curling his bare toes, doesn't believe in weekends or in taking time off. He's the ultimate workaholic, Nick is, and it's setting an unholy example for the rest of SHIELD.

Still, his current assignment is relatively long-term, as long as there isn't a real emergency, Phil will remain undercover at Midtown Science High School, to keep an eye on Spiderman.

Spiderman. Spiderboy, to be more exact, Phil thinks as he turns over to his other side. He's not happy about Nick's decision to let the teenager continue with his crimefighting, even if he understands Nick's reasoning. He still thinks the kid is too young.

Too innocent.

And maybe a tiny part of Phil is an idealist, or a dreamer, but he doesn't want to work for an organization that recruits children for their crusades. SHIELD is certainly no holy organization, there's enough going on behind the scenes that would prevent a lesser man from sleeping well at night, but so far, there had always been a line.

Children fall behind that line. They still do, as far as Phil is concerned, and Peter Parker might be seventeen, nearly eighteen, but he's still just a kid. He should worry about girls and his grades, not about crime and mutants. 

He sighs and rolls over to his other side, bringing the sheets with him. As much as he hates to admit it, Parker is not going to stop what he's doing, and the least SHIELD can do is keep an eye on him and back-up ready for when he bites off more than he can chew. 

Phil is very sure: that will happen sooner than later. The arrogance of youth, lack of experience, stronger enemies - one of these three is going to try stopping Spiderman. Maybe even all three combined. And Phil is ready for that.

However, today is probably not the day. He can sleep in, and he can catch up on one of his few remaining hobbies, or his paperwork. If he's lucky, the bad guys will enjoy their Sunday as well and the Avengers will stay inactive; Phil is looking forward to a few uninterrupted hours with Clint.

As if summoned by Phil's thoughts, the door is pushed further open and then closed, and soft steps pad closer to the bed.

"Hey," Clint murmurs quietly right before the mattress dips and he presses himself against Phil's back. "Brought you coffee."

Clint's lips are soft and warm against the back of Phil's neck, against his shoulder, and Phil turns around again to kiss him, lips pressed firmly together while his fingers tangle in Clint's soft-washed t-shirt and hold him close.

"Hmm," Clint murmurs around a grin and pulls slightly away. "Good morning."

"Morning," Phil answers and kisses him again. This time, his fingers slide through Clint's hair and make it stick up. It has grown out a little, not long enough to fall into his eyes, but with a little dedication, and some water, Phil can comb it into an approximation of Captain America's hairstyle.

Not that he's doing that, except maybe when they're in the shower together and nobody, not even Clint, can see what exactly Phil's hands are doing when they're supposed to wash Clint's hair for him.

"You'll need a haircut soon," Phil murmurs before sitting up. The coffee Clint promised is in a travel mug and will keep for a while, as if Clint did not expect Phil to make a grab for it immediately. 

If there is one thing that can distract Phil from his morning coffee, it's the offer of lazy Sunday morning sex, and the thought makes him feel warm and happy.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he says before reaching for Clint again, his hand squeezing the back of his neck briefly. "Don't go anywhere. I've got plans for you."

"What kind of plans?" Clint asks playfully while already sprawling backwards on the bed.

"The kind of plans that could take me all day," Phil replies, only to have Clint laugh.

"Well, hurry up then," he says, making a shooing motion with his hand. "I actually do have plans for today, just so you know."

Phil gets up and takes two steps toward the bathroom before asking, "What kind of plans?" 

"A hot date with a young lady," Clint shoots back, and Phil shakes his head amusedly. 

He takes care of his business, washes his hands and quickly brushes his teeth while he's at it, and when he comes back, Clint is sitting against the headboard, his phone in his hand. He is biting at his lip, and he doesn't look up when he says, "I can cancel that, if you want."

Phil crawls up the bed and puts his hands on Clint's thighs for balance before kissing him thoroughly, his tongue nudging against Clint's and curling against it for a long moment. Clint makes a small noise at the back of his throat. One hand comes up to tangle in Phil's shirt, the other curves around his ass to pull him closer. The phone lies, forgotten for the moment, on the pillow next to them.

"When is your date?" Phil asks when he finally pulls away from the kiss and presses his mouth to Clint's neck.

"Ah...afternoon," Clint replies, his hands blindly groping Phil's chest and tugging impatiently at his shirt.

"Don't cancel it," Phil says and sits back on his heels. "It'll be hard, but I guess I can let you out of bed for Miss Bishop."

"Thanks," Clint replies, dry as the desert, and pulls Phil close again. "I'm sure she'll appreciate that."

"She better," Phil grins. 

This date thing, whatever it really is, between Clint and Kate Bishop is relatively new, as far as Phil knows. He doesn't keep track of Clint's personal friends, of course, and Clint doesn't tell him in minute detail what he does every day, unless a mission and an official debrief are involved, but Phil knows about Kate, knows that she is an archer, as well, and he knows that she's a member of the more or less inofficial _Young Avengers_ \- inofficial since they are no SHIELD-sanctioned group, but Captain America supports them and with him the rest of the Avengers. 

It was actually Steve who introduced Kate to Clint, and rumor and JARVIS say that Steve promised Kate that she could be the next Hawkeye if something happened to Clint. Steve made the two of them meet, and after a while they have come to the point where Kate Bishop is officially _Hawkeye_ as well, with Clint's blessing and all, including one of his old bows.

Apparently, the two Hawkeyes bonded over weapons from the Paleolithic Age, and a tight friendship developed out of their mutual respect for their skills. 

Phil slides his hands back into Clint's hair and kisses him again. "So," he says, his voice rough and his lips tingling, "the cat has abandoned me for food, and we do have some time before you need to go as well. What do you think we should do with that time?"

Instead of answering, Clint pulls him close by his hips until he's straddling Clint's legs. He can feel Clint's body heat even through the layers of clothing between them, and his cock responds to the closeness accordingly. 

"I'm sure we can think of something," Clint breathes. His hands slide under Phil's shirt at the same time as Phil grabs the hem of his t-shirt and tries to tug it up Clint's chest.

Phil chuckles and leans back slightly. "Off," he orders. "Come on. Tell me what you want."

"You," Clint immediately and predictably replies. "Naked, preferably."

"Yeah, well, you can have that," Phil allows and wriggles out of his own shirt. The scar on his chest twinges slightly when he lifts his arms, but it's something he's gotten used to, and Clint bends his head down and kisses it better almost immediately. He doesn't stop there, pushing Phil backwards until he's the one sprawled all over the bed and Clint is kneeling above him.

He kisses and licks his way down Phil's stomach, to the waistband of his pants, which he drags down over Phil's hips without hesitation. His mouth is hot and wet and perfect, and Phil loses himself in the touch of his tongue on his hard cock for a long, long moment until Clint abruptly pulls away.

"Hmm?" Phil asks and lifts his head to glance down his body at the kneeling figure of his boyfriend, who is busy stripping off his clothes and reaching for the lube and tissues.

"Want you," Clint says. His voice has gone hoarse, the way it does when he's desperately horny, and he doesn't even realize it. It makes Phil's heart ache in the best ways.

"Whatever you want," he promises and sits up to reach for Clint's shoulders, to drag him into another kiss, deep and wet and dirty, the kind that leaves both of them breathless and desperate for more.

Phil doesn't mind that Clint bites at his tongue, especially when he slides his fingers down Clint's strong arms and figures out what Clint is doing with his hands and the lube and his own ass. His breath catches, a wave of fierce arousal surges through him, and he's caught between the desire to watch and the almost-need to bat Clint's hands away and take over himself.

In the end, he slides his own finger in, next to Clint's, and revels in the noises Clint makes, the punched-out groan that almost sounds like pain and yet so completely different.

"Now, Phil," Clint decides, and straddles Phil even before their fingers are pulled away. It makes him groan at the unexpected stretch, and Phil groans along with him, infected by the urgency and the almost desperate need that is connecting them in this moment.

Clint's muscles ripple under his skin as he lowers himself down on Phil's cock, his mouth falls open and his head back, revealing the length of his throat, and Phil grabs his thighs, his fingertips digging into them while he tries not to come.

It has been a while since they did it like this, and Phil doesn't know what to do with his hands. He wants to touch every single inch of Clint's body, wants to wrap his fingers around Clint's cock, wants to run them through his hair, cling to Clint and never let him go again.

In the end, he doesn't do anything, just digs his fingers deeper into Clint's muscles and watches breathlessly as Clint works himself down his length, until he's sitting in Phil's lap with a dazed expression on his face and his hands on Phil's chest.

His nails are blunt, and his body is perfect, so perfect Phil could combust spontaneously and come without further prompt.

It's really hard not to, especially when Clint starts moving in a slick slide up and down, out and in, his body offering no resistance and just taking Phil in, right to the base.

Phil unclenches his hands long enough to reach for Clint's cock and stroke it, and he even remembers the little twist at the tip sometimes, the one Clint likes. He doesn't on every stroke, too lost in his own sensations, the vision of Clint above him and the feeling of his ass clenching around him and everything in between.

It's perfect. 

It starts slow and sweet until Clint picks up the pace, and then it gets passionate and even hotter, and Phil is _this_ close to coming, he can already feel it in his toes and his balls and his fingertips, when suddenly, Clint's cell phone lits up and plays a particular little jingle they both recognize: the _Stars and Stripes Forever_ \- the march played in the circus when there's any kind of danger.

Clint freezes mid-move, and Phil drops his head back into the pillows with a frustrated groan.

"Really, now?" he asks, but he doesn't protest when Clint pulls away and hastily cleans up before yanking on his uniform. The whole process needs less than five minutes.

Unfortunately, this isn't the first time they've been interrupted during sex, and it probably won't be the last. Phil hands Clint his bow and watches him leave the bedroom before he drags himself into the bathroom for a brief wipe-down with a wet towel.

If the Avengers are called out, Phil considers himself on standby, even if he isn't on handler-duty anymore. 

It's not as if he could lie back and relax when he knows Clint is out there, fighting who-knows-what, and it's ready to prepared for everything SHIELD can imagine.

Pepper-the-cat squishes past him when he opens the door and hides under their bed, just the tip of her tail poking out. Phil would love to sit down and run his hand through her soft fur, but his own phone rings and there is no time.

He grabs the travel mug of coffee Clint left on the bedside table for him before hurrying off.

~~

"Uh...hello?"

Clint doesn't turn around at the voice behind him, but the muscles in his shoulders and arms tense slightly.

"Excuse me, sir, but this is my roof," the same voice announces, and Clint risks a quick glance away from the commotion on the ground, where the rest of the Avengers are standing around a giant hole in the middle of the street and Steve tries to convince a concerned citizen to step back, at the figure half behind him.

Red and blue suit, mask covering his entire head, a spider emblazoned on his chest. The guy is slighter than Clint imagined him to be, thinner and with the lankiness he associates with youth.

Focusing on the action below him again, he replies, "There's no sign saying so, kid."

Spiderman shifts from one foot to the other. "It's not that I have a problem with you hanging out here," he says and leans over the edge of the building to peer down. "But this is my roof. Really. Even if there is no sign."

Clint's mouth twitches slightly.

"Don't worry," he says. "I'll be gone before you know it."

Spiderman hums and crouches down. "What are we looking at?" he asks after a brief moment of silence.

"I'll let you know when we know," Clint absent-mindedly says and focuses on the chatter coming from his earpiece. "Iron Man is relatively sure it's not alligators from the sewers."

Spiderman snorts quietly, and Clint remembers what Phil told him, about Dr. Connors and the kid's connection to that whole mess, and he almost feels sorry for bringing it up.

"Hey," he starts, ready to apologize, when the ground under them shudders and the pavement breaks open even more to reveal slimy tentacles, white and fat like maggots, reaching up and out. Civilians stumble backwards, some of them pushed by the Avengers.

"Ew," Spiderman mutters, but Clint can't spare him a glance right now. He shoots arrow after arrow in the writhing, slimy mass, hoping to hit its center and kill it.

"It's Cthulu," Tony yells while flying by, and Clint just knows that Steve will reprimand him, when suddenly more giant tentacles shoot out, and both Captain America and Hulk are grabbed and pulled closer to the thing.

Clint watches how an entire car is crunched by another set of tentacles and dragged into the hole, and how Hulk's muscles strain against the grip of the tentacle, how his toes dig deep furrows into the ground. He hears Steve's breathing rattle over the comms, and then, Tony plummets toward the ground, hands stretched out in front of him, aiming exactly where Clint just shot his last exploding arrow.

His warning comes too late. Tony has already disappeared underground. A cloud of smoke rises up, the ground rumbles, and suddenly, the tentacle holding Steve goes slack.

Steve doesn't move.

It's Natasha who crawls closer and drags him away while Hulk howls and tries to rip the tentacle still wrapped around his chest off.

Clint's thoughts screech to an abrupt halt. Steve is unconscious, Thor not there, and Tony is hopefully alive and wreaking all kinds of havoc underground. That leaves Widow, Hulk and him, and that makes him de facto to the interim leader of the Avengers, or what's left of them.

"Widow," asks, his thoughts re-arranging around the mission and his new responsibility. "Status?"

"Cap's alive, just unconscious. Several broken ribs," Natasha immediately reports. "Hulk seems fine. No sight of Iron Man." She hesitates briefly. "We're not prepared for another attack of those tentacles," she then says.

Clint agrees with her, but before he can say so, the ground rumbles again and shudders stronger than before. Clint can feel the building tremble under him, and he almost loses his footing.

A gloved hand closes around his upper arm and he's yanked a step backwards, away from the edge. Spiderman is surprisingly strong, especially considering his stature. 

"We need to help the people down there," Spiderman says, his voice going up half an octave. 

"We do, kid," Clint agrees calmly. "And we are." He bites back a curse. "We can always use some more help," he points out, and it's as if the kid just waited for that. He flings himself off the roof, spider webbing shooting out of his wrists and letting him swing down to the ground in an elegant arch. He uses the stuff to cordon off the area, herding people behind the make-shift barrier and keeping them there with a few words and gestures.

Clint has no time to watch him, because the grumbling under ground gets stronger, and then, it suddenly and abruptly stops.

Dust and silence settle over the scene.

"Widow, report," Clint asks, his voice calm and crisp and in control, the way Phil Coulson taught him, but before Nat can answer, there's an inhuman screech coming from the giant hole in the ground. 

Hulk howls and limps closer to the hole, only to reach in and haul out Iron Man, who hangs in the Big Guy's grasp, arms and legs dangling. 

This time, Clint can't bite back a curse. He readies his grappling hook and swings down himself. His feet touch the ground, inches away from the hole, the second Tony's voice rasps over the comms.

"Sonic arrows, Hawkeye."

Clint's hand reaches over his shoulder. He has exactly two arrows left, which means every single shot needs to count.

The sonic arrowheads are something Tony and he developed in the long weeks he was out of commission because of a broken leg. Basically, Clint said, 'It would be cool to have arrows that did this and that,' and Tony grumbled and disappeared in his workshop, only to show up with a new prototype he casually dropped in Clint's lap.

Clint hasn't tried them in the field yet, but his quiver is equipped with them, and now is as good a time as any.

But he's still The Amazing Hawkeye, and he never misses.

The first arrow goes into the white gelatineous mass he can barely see in the darkness of the hole, and the second follows just a heartbeat later, aimed a little lower than the first one.

There is another screech. Something jerks in the darkness, and then, there is a scruffling sound.

And then, silence.

Clint coughs.

~~

"This is not what I wanted out of my Sunday," Clint says when Phil steps up to where he's leaning against the wall. He's still in his uniform, his arms covered in dust, which means he didn't even take the time to shower before coming here. Natasha, who is sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs lining the room, has, because her hair is still slightly wet and twisted in a simple ponytail.

Phil can only commiserate with Clint. 

"Status?" he asks, and Clint sighs. "Bruce's sleeping," he says, "the Other Guy was a little tender, but nothing broke. Tony is supposed to be resting, but he's fine, and Steve's ribs are almost healed by now. They should be fine to go home as soon as they're up."

"What about you?" Phil asks, and Clint shrugs. 

"We're fine. Spiderman..." he hesitates a split second. "He left when SHIELD took over."

Phil nods. He actually knows that much already, knows that Peter Parker has safely arrived home and had dinner with his aunt before retreating to his room and doing his homework.

"You did good today," he tells Clint.

Clint grimaces and closes his eyes, and Phil leaves him be. Instead, he settles in the chair next to Natasha and waits with them for news on the other Avengers.

~~

It's late when they return home, Natasha propping up Bruce and Phil hovering close to Steve, ready to come to his aid should Steve need it. It's Clint who nudges Tony toward the elevator that brings him up to the penthouse, where Pepper will take over and make sure Tony gets a good night's sleep instead of burying himself in his workshop again. 

"That thing..." Tony says. "Cthulu. It's not dead."

His face is kind of smashed into Clint's shoulder, his words muffled and slurred, but Clint understands him nonetheless. 

"Next time, we're better prepared," he says, and Tony makes a sound Clint interprets as agreement. 

He guides Tony into Pepper's arms and drops the suitcase containing the Iron Man suit to the ground. JARVIS can take care of it, for all Clint cares. He is tired and he aches and he wants a shower.

When he returns to the Avengers' floor, it's dark and silent. Pepper-the-cat rubs herself against his shins briefly before sitting down next to her bowl and meowing until Phil feeds her. 

"Go take a shower," Phil tells him. "Are you hungry? I can make you something."

"I'm fine," Clint replies quietly. "Just tired."

"It was a long day," Phil agrees. His eyes are soft, and Clint wants nothing more than curl up in his arms and sleep, but for that, he needs to shower and get out of his uniform.

 

If Phil has complaints about the trail of clothes that starts right behind their bedroom door and goes straight to the bathroom, he doesn't voice them, or maybe he does, but Clint doesn't hear it. He falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, and doesn't even notice it when Phil and Pepper-the-cat join him in the bed.

 

But when he wakes up in the middle of the night from a nightmare filled with white, gleaming tentacles choking the life right out of him, Pepper-the-cat is there, her body curled on the pillow next to his head, her fur soft against his cheek and her purring loud enough to firmly anchor him in reality. 

He doesn't wake up Phil. He just buries his face in her fur and waits for the ice cold terror to go away.

That thing - Cthulu - is still out there. 

Next time, they might not get away so easily.

The thought keeps him awake.

He guesses he's not the only one.

~end.


End file.
